What A King Wants
by sylc
Summary: King Thorin secretly likes King Thranduil despite their awful angry history. He decides to send him a letter and a gift. To his surprise, King Thranduil writes back.


As Thorin, Dwarven King Under the Mountain, exited his quarters after a night's sleep, he cast his gaze across the table on which he had late the previous evening laid out his letters and gift pouches to the neighbouring kingdoms. He expected to see the table surface bare so his bushy brow knitted when he saw that one letter remained.

On picking it up, he could not help a small chuckle from exiting his lips. He picked it up and tucked it into the folds of his furry cloak.

"Send Kili to me," he asked of his butler as he made his way to the throne hall to hold court for the morn.

The morning progressed and still no sign of Kili. Finally, the butler returned to his side. "I fear, Sire, that Kili has already left the realm with his brother, to deliver your gift to Beorn."

Thorin frowned. How strange. He had thought that he had asked Kili and Fili to deliver gifts separately, and had hoped that the temptation of seeing Mirkwood's Elvish Captain of the Guard again would ease Kili's dread of re-facing King Thranduil.

When he mentioned this to Balin at lunch later, the white-haired dwarf laughed. "I don't blame the Laddie for leaving that message behind. Beautiful though the Elf-King's halls may be, and beautiful though some of those elven lassies may be, I wouldn't want to face the King of Mirkwood again." He stroked the plait in his snowy beard and asked, "Would you?"

Thorin smiled. "No, but Thranduil did help us, albeit indirectly as allies in the battle." He took the letter and gift pouch out of his cloak and laid them on the table beside his plate.

"I mean no offence, but perhaps a meeting of Kings is preferable to a letter, given our realms are still not friendly?" the old dwarf said.

"Again, very true. But I still would not trust that Wild Elf to not lock me up and hold me for ransom were I to turn up on his doorstep," Thorin said darkly. He looked at the jewellery pouch. "I suppose I shall send it via Lake Town. A little gift to show up with his favourite wine."

Balin followed his gaze. "What is to be his gift?" he asked.

"White gems," Thorin replied, and he absently stroked the buttery leather of the pouch. "Too good for him," he said, "but he would not wear anything less, I imagine." In his mind's eye, he recalled King Thranduil's proud, pointed face: those chiselled cheekbones, bright eyes, tall frame and long hands, those exquisite, shimmering robes and high crown. He felt a heavy heat pool in his groin and he swallowed.

"As if you care," Balin snorted.

Thorin chuckled and closed his sweating hand over the letter and pouch. "Oh, but I do. If he wears our crafts, he will not be able to forget us so easily." He tucked both back into the pocket inside his cloak. "As he so kindly reminded me, Elves are longer lived than us. I mean to ensure that long after I have joined our Stone Ancestors, he still thinks daily of Thorin Oakenshield."

"Hm." Balin frowned. "Your interest in what he thinks is… surprising. I never knew you to think much of elves."

Thorin snorted. "I do not."

"No? Well, it seems to me that King Thranduil has gotten under your skin."

Thorin smiled. _Oh, Balin, if you only knew how much._ Aloud, he remarked only, quietly, "Perhaps he has."

* * *

A few weeks later, King Thranduil was about to sit down to dinner inside his halls when he noticed an ugly, misshapen, waterproofed package sitting above his golden plate. He eyed it bemusedly for a few moments and then glanced around for his butler, Galion.

"Galion, what is this?" he asked of the elf.

"It arrived via the wine delivery from Lake Town," the elf replied.

Still frowning, Thranduil took his seat and reached to undo the knots on the package, careful not to let his sleeves dangle in the contents of his plate. The knots were secure and he inwardly grumbled. Lifting the package, he set it on his lap and bent over it to work the knots loose between his long fingers, his long hair falling like a curtain around his shoulders. Finally, the cord relented and he opened the layers of packaging to find a heavy velvety burgundy pouch and letter within. The pouch was secured with cords ended with stones marked with dwarves runes. Thranduil's lip curled, but, ignoring the letter, he proceeded with opening the pouch all the same.

He gasped, eyes widening when he saw the gems in the belt enclosed. White, perfect, like small stars, exquisitely shaped.

"Elbereth," he uttered as he unwrapped the belt to its full length and gazed upon it. Even if the dwarf had uncovered a new deposit, these would still exist among some of the most prized gems in Erebor. What was that angry dwarf thinking? His brow furrowed deep, he laid the belt down upon his lap and reached for the letter. An apology, perhaps, for insulting him on their last encounter? But that was impossible; he had hardly shown them precedent by imprisoning them in his dungeons. He broke the seal on the parchment, unfolded it, and read the words therein. In Dwarven runes, of course.

_Thranduil, _(no title, Thranduil noted with narrowed eyes)

_I hope this fits._

_Thorin_

Caring not for the curious eyes of his onlooking neighbours at the table, he unbuckled and pulled off the belt currently around his waist and slid Thorin's around the waist of his breeches. To his satisfaction, it fit perfectly. Beside him, other diners murmured compliments.

* * *

It was two months later that Thorin finally received a response from the Elf King of Mirkwood. He had begun to doubt that Thranduil intended to respond to his brief note and gift, or even that the elf had received it.

Then late one afternoon he was advised that an elvish messenger hailing from Mirkwood had arrived on the doorstep of Erebor.

The elf bowed deeply and presented to him a scroll wrapped with silken ribbon. Upon undoing the bow, Thorin unrolled the parchment and read, in the tall elegant hand of the Elf King:

_From one King to another,_

_The belt will do._

_What are you playing at?_

Thorin laughed heartily, a deep throaty chuckle. The elvish messenger smiled uncertainly, evidently unaware of the content of the note he had carried.

"Stay overnight," Thorin instructed the elf. "I will have you carry a reply." To his butler, he instructed, "show him to a comfortable room, with access to the best ale."

The elf bowed and followed the butler away. Later that night, after supper, Thorin summoned the elf back to him and handed him a letter for him to take back to the Elf-King along with another jewellery pouch.

* * *

The ten rings enclosed in the pouch fit each of his fingers perfectly. Each was of a different style, bore a different cut of exquisitely white gem, and all were hugely ostentatious, exactly to Thranduil's preference.

The King sat in his quarters, all ten rings on his fingers. He had not dared to try on all of the rings publicly in his court. Although he had been tempted to do so, he did not dare try on the one bearing the largest stone, the one that fit his right index finger, his wedding ring finger. But alone, in the privacy of his rooms, he admired the ring and wore it with his unadorned gold wedding ring. He was struck by how plain his elvish wedding band appeared beside the crazy Oakenshield dwarf's ring.

He re-read Thorin's note:

_Thranduil,_

_This is no game. Or do you no longer like white gems?_

_Thorin_

Thranduil twisted the ring around his right index finger. Like his wedding ring, it was made of the finest gold, but the gold of the dwarf-made ring was so much more delicately shaped and the gemstone dazzled him with its brightness. It winked and blinked and almost seemed to laugh at the King as he gazed upon it, fascinated.

Many minutes passed and then Thranduil took off the ring and put it on his left index finger. He reached for pen and parchment.

* * *

_King Under the Mountain,_

_I remain fond of white gems._

_I remain uncertain of your reason for sending them to me, though you have my thanks._

_You were perceptive in your assessment of their fit._

_Thranduil_

Thorin chuckled as he reread the letter that he had received from Thranduil earlier that day along with the pleasant surprise of numerous prized deer furs from the woodland realm. The last line especially pleased him as it indicated that the elf had at least tried on, if not worn the rings, and had given thought to Thorin's perceptive attentions during their brief and usually heated exchanges in Thranduil's throne hall and following the Battle of the Five Armies.

* * *

Bracelets. Thranduil's brows rose. This was becoming a joke.

_Thranduil,_

_I shall stay with white gems, then._

_T_

* * *

_Thorin,_

_You will run out of types of jewellery soon._

_Thranduil_

Healing poultices had accompanied the Wood Elf King's letter this time.

* * *

A necklace this time, delicate in appearance, but sturdy as steel, its surface encrusted with tiny, bright gems, the pendant an ostentatious handsome diamond.

_Nothing in comparison to the Arkenstone_, Thranduil found himself thinking as he admired his appearance in his dressing room mirror. He looked down at the tabletop where Thorin's letter lay unfolded.

_Any piercings?_

"You little…" Thranduil muttered, but he smiled despite himself.

* * *

_Thorin,_

_No piercings._

_Thranduil_

* * *

_Thranduil,_

_You are handsome enough without piercings._

_T_

Hair accessories studded with small gems accompanied Thorin's letter on this occasion. This time, however, the Elf-King found himself paying more attention to the brief note than to the gift. This was the first time that Thorin had complimented him. Ever. Thranduil pursed his lips. The dwarf knew that his face was an illusion, that the reality was a mostly burnt monstrosity that Thranduil avoided showing to anyone, himself included, except at the sternest request of his chief healer.

He sighed, fingering the heavy dwarf-made parchment between his long fingers. He was wearing two of Thorin's rings. He had received compliments on them daily since he had begun wearing them.

"Enough of these games, Dwarf," Thranduil murmured. He folded the letter and placed it with its fellows in a jewelled box on his dressing room table.

* * *

"We have not received an elvish messenger for a few months now," Balin commented at dinner five months later.

Thorin grunted, but did not respond. Again, he silently berated himself for pushing the boundary of the game of gifts that he had been playing with Thranduil well beyond familiar limits. He should not have directly referred to the elf's beauty. Personally, he was surprised that Thranduil had entertained him for as long as he had. He had thought mentioning piercings was risky, but the elf had surprised him in even answering what in Dwarven society was considered a slightly risque question. Probably to elves the idea of marring the body they had been born with was such an outlandish idea that no thought could then be given to the potential location of piercings. In hindsight, that was the only explanation Thorin could think of to explain why Thranduil had responded to his letter at all. That or Thranduil - as Thorin had wished were the case - was warming to him.

But as the lack of communication from the Elf-King of Mirkwood indicated, Thranduil was no longer interested in conversing with him, or in exchanging gifts. It was a pity, but no extraordinary loss. They had gained a few trade contacts out of the banter, and though the gems and craftwork had been laborious and tremendously expensive, Thorin still did not regret the effort.

_Thranduil is, after all, an exquisitely beautiful elf._

He smiled at the thought, and again congratulated himself for daring to flirt with the elf. Then, as he thought longer on the image of the elf in his mind's eye, he sighed. Next to him, Balin looked at him attentively.

"Is everything all right?"

"How would one best go about stirring the interest of an elf?" Thorin asked the elderly dwarf.

Balin looked at him quizzically. When Thorin did not elaborate, Balin replied, "I know little of elves, but from what I have learned, it depends upon the individual. Find out what the person likes and dangle that before them."

"And a King?" Thorin elaborated.

"King Thranduil?" Balin probed.

Thorin nodded curtly.

"Jewels."

Thorin shook his head. "I have tried that."

"Wine."

"We are not wine makers."

"Any kind of finery."

"No. What is it that King… nay, what is it that the elf, Thranduil, would most desire in the world?"

"Love, fun, freedom, family, a prosperous and happy kingdom, and a comfortable home, I imagine. And constant adulation," Balin added after a pause.

Thorin nodded, his brow furrowed deeply.

"Dare I wonder at what you are plotting?" Balin asked. "Befriending Thranduil is not a small task."

"No," Thorin agreed. "Indeed, it is not."

* * *

After seven months of no direct communication with the Dwarves of Erebor, Thranduil was surprised to receive a letter from the Dwarf King. He had rather thought Thorin had lost interest in writing to him, but apparently not. Although this time, he noted, there was no accompanying gift.

He unfolded the letter and his brow knitted, his lips pursing slightly as he read the brief.

_Thranduil,_

_Come dine with me?_

_Thorin_

Thranduil bit his lower lip and inwardly cursed. Well, so be it, he thought then, but although he might be content to dine in Erebor, if he was reading between the lines correctly, he would prefer anything that might follow happen in his own realm.

He called for pen and paper.

* * *

_Thorin,_

_I came to you last time, after the Battle of etcetera. This time, I bid you come to me, and allow me to show you a different kind of elven hospitality from which you are used._

_Thranduil_

* * *

Thorin inclined his head politely to the tall blond elf sitting comfortably on the throne before him. Thranduil looked quite like a smug cat that had just caught a fat mouse and Thorin made sure to inform him of this fact as soon as Thranduil had dismissed everyone else in the hall.

He was pleased when Thranduil laughed pleasantly and beckoned him with a playful expression to follow him out of the throne hall and down a winding corridor to a private dining room. There, before a broad window that look out across the moonlit forest, was a cosy table set for two and laden with food.

"So, Thorin, what are we doing here?" Thranduil asked, after they had both eaten heartily. The Elf-King stretched his long limbs out luxuriously and smiled when he noticed Thorin's dark eyes follow the movement attentively. "An alliance of realms can be secured by letter alone."

Thorin chuckled. "Aye, but I was hoping for friendship with you as well as an alliance. Friendship at the very least." He sipped at his wine.

"At the very least?" The Elf-King's smile turned coy. "I am content to continue to play games, but I believe I have already told you that I am better than you at patience."

Thorin stared at him for a long while. Then, abruptly, he smirked and looked around. "Are we alone?"

Thranduil turned his head and waved for the single attendant that Thorin had not noticed to leave their presence.

"And now?" the Elf-King asked, after the door had shut.

Thorin rose to his feet. One hand remained on the table top and calloused fingers drummed the surface as he padded towards the elf. Thranduil watched his approach, his smile widening to a grin as he glanced between Thorin's playful smile and the dancing fingertips.

Then the dwarf was standing in front of him. The drumming ceased and two hands rested lightly on the elf's parted thighs.

"And now?" Thranduil repeated, staring at the dwarf with intense amusement and curiosity.

"And now," Thorin repeated quietly, with a warm smile, "I would like to test your patience."

In response, Thranduil laughed throatily, leaned forward, and kissed him.


End file.
